


Shadowboxing

by itsmadeofgold



Series: Light [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Kradam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmadeofgold/pseuds/itsmadeofgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If Kris had known he’d run into Adam, he never would’ve come to this restaurant.  </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowboxing

If Kris had known he’d run into Adam, he never would’ve come to this restaurant.

It’s not like he really thinks about it, or purposefully tries to _avoid_ Adam, but that’s pretty moot since on a regular day it’s not something he really has to concern himself with. He hasn’t lived in LA in years and isn’t usually in danger of bumping into him.

He would’ve picked somewhere else to eat if he’d known, that’s all.

But Kris has only been at his table for two minutes, attempting to make smalltalk with the pretty stranger his manager insisted he take out as part of her _act like a pop star instead of a hermit_ plan, when he notices the commotion coming from the other side of the dining room. He turns his head to see what’s going on and catches a glimpse of spikey, red-tipped black hair amid a semicircle of admirers, hangers-on and photographers and Kris’s heart jumps into his throat. He immediately begins planning his escape, turning to look at his date - now obliviously examining her menu - and then back to where Adam and his travelling circus are holding court.

That’s when he sees the host who just seated them, talking to a man holding a camera while gesturing excitedly toward Kris’s table.

“Come on,” he says to the girl - it dawns on him that he can’t remember her name. She looks up at him, her pretty brown eyes blank.

“Hm?” she says.

He stands, reaching toward her. “Let’s eat somewhere else,” he says, swallowing a lump of panic and wracking his brain for a good reason why they can’t stay at this restaurant. It doesn’t matter in the end, though, because he’s out of time.

“Kris Allen?” he hears a voice behind him ask. His shoulders droop before he turns around, feeling like a kid caught skipping class.

“Yeah?” he says. He can’t even deny it. The whole point of taking this girl out was to be seen, and being in the same place with Adam gives him an even better shot of getting a write-up somewhere. His manager will be _thrilled._

The man - holding a camera, of course - beams. “Hey!” he says. “This is great. Adam Lambert is right over there. Why don’t you come over and we can get some pictures of the two of you together? Kradam together again - it’ll be huge.”

Kris sighs. “Um,” he says, knowing whatever he says will likely make gossip sites tomorrow so he might as well go for the no-drama route. “Sure, if he wants to.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to?” the guy says, gesturing for Kris to follow him as he starts for Adam’s table. Kris turns to say something to his date, but she’s on her phone now and doesn’t seem all that interested in what he’s doing; he decides she’s the least of his problems at the moment.

Why wouldn’t Adam want to? Maybe because they haven’t spoken in almost three years. Because the last time they did, Kris hung up on him. Because directly before that, Adam said things like _you’re like a disease_ and _better off without._

Kris is reminding himself to stay calm, that - despite their stormy past - there are many very valid PR-related reasons why he shouldn’t let on that he and Adam are anything but the good friends they’ve always claimed to be. He has said in many an interview that they are still in touch, that they keep tabs on each other, and now he has to act like that’s true. He knows Adam knows all that, too, and that the unspoken agreement to keep up the charade goes both ways. So there’s no reason to be nervous, really, because Adam will play along and then it’ll be over and they can pretend it never happened.

Meanwhile some unruly part of Kris’s brain is frenzied, feeling giddily excited to see Adam again, remembering all the times _before_ they’d had to face reality and admit that things were complicated and unworkable.

Those before times had been _good_. Just how good they were was the reason everything after had been so shitty. But they’d also been so good that Kris could never completely forget them; so good that Kris always secretly wanted more.

He sees the quick flash of a frown that ripples over Adam’s face when he sees Kris standing there. It’s unlikely that anybody else does, though, as Adam recovers immediately and replaces it with a bright smile, glowing so sincerely that anybody who doesn’t know him as well as Kris does would think it was real.

“Hi,” Kris says, waving for some reason, feeling lame.

“Hey, stranger,” Adam says, standing and holding his hand out for Kris to shake. Kris takes it, attempting to smile even half as convincingly as Adam is. He can feel dozens of eyes on him; a few camera flashes pop, tentative, like they’re eager for the _real_ show to begin, but can only wait so long.

As soon as he’s on his feet Adam brings his other arm around to drag Kris into a quick hug, squeezing briefly and tight, and Kris tries not to stiffen in a noticeable way. The cameras react, flashes going off all around them.

“How’ve you been, man?” Adam says when he pulls back.

“Pretty good,” Kris says, taking a step backward, his forced smile going lopsided. Adam’s hands fall away, back to his sides.

“How long has it been?” a voice from somewhere behind Kris asks, and he thinks he is successful at not flinching. He’s not sure what to say to that, so he just looks up at Adam, and tries his best not to register how _familiar_ he is.

Tries not to feel what he is feeling at the sight of him.

Adam seems prepared, though. “Not too long,” he says. “Just a couple of months. Right before you went on that trip to Bolivia, right?”

Kris quirks an eyebrow. How did Adam know about _that?_

“Right,” he says, trying not to sound confused. “We uh... had drinks.”

Adam’s smile grows wider as Kris watches. For a second it looks like his expression shifts, but Kris must be rusty at reading him because he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Yeah,” Adam says.

The photographers start to call for posed pictures, and Adam is obliging and friendly, turning to face them and encouraging Kris to do the same by draping an arm around him and pulling him to his side. Kris finds himself sinking into that spot, his arm trailing around Adam’s waist like it knows the way; he doesn’t even have to send it.

Adam laughs, but his words sound very serious when he says “I hope after this you all will let me eat my dinner.” The coldness of his voice rings dissonant under the warmth of his laughter, and despite the outward pleasantness of the moment - the mutters of _Kradam_ going through the small crowd remind Kris in a stomach-fluttering way of the night of the finale, _their_ Idol finale - he knows they are only representing a weak reminder of what they had been. Whatever _Kradam_ used to be, he and Adam standing here now are only hinting at it; pretending.

The moment passes and Adam lets his arm fall again, stepping away from Kris and looking instead at the gawkers when he says “OK, I think that’s enough, guys,” and nods dismissively. Kris is almost shocked when the crowd starts to disperse, wandering away with nods and thanks to Adam. Adam seems to have this all worked out; he gives them a little of what they want and they give him a little in return.

Kris turns to say something - some kind of proper hello to Adam - because it feels natural to him. He doesn’t even think about it first, he just turns his head to smile and say hi, but Adam is gone already, sitting down at his table with the few friends he came with. It’s like a slap, the quick and cold way Adam shuts Kris out. Like he’s not even there. Kris rocks back from the jolt of it.

Of course, Kris thinks. See Adam, get hurt. Just like old times.

He shakes his head as he walks away, deciding quickly that the only thing to do is put this little episode behind him and move on. Shake it off, go back to the girl he came with - if she’s still there - and see if he can save some of this night. If he _had_ to go on dates with people he didn’t know, he might as well try to enjoy himself.

Fuck Adam. Seriously.

Sheila. He thinks her name was Sheila.

~

Kris is halfway down the red carpet, smiling and nodding and making jokes - having a surprisingly good time for what it is, really - when the crowd on the outside of the velvet ropes suddenly erupts into squealing and wailing. He is blinded by flashes for a moment as he glances over his shoulder to investigate the cause of the hysteria, and when his sight clears and he sees Adam beaming, one hand in the air as if acknowledging his minions, Kris groans.

OK, he should’ve seen this one coming. But he’d thought that after several years of not seeing each other, they _surely_ couldn’t cross paths again so soon. It’s only been a few days and he would never have believed fate could be that cruel.

He comforts himself that he’s a lot farther up the line than Adam is and that he should have no problem making his way inside without having to acknowledge him.

And if luck turns against him, he further comforts himself with the knowledge that he only has a couple more weeks left in LA, and then he will be able to stop thinking about Adam Lambert completely again.

He smirks, knowing that he’s lying to himself with that _completely._ And the _again,_ too.

OK, well, he’ll go back to not having to worry about running into him, at least.

He turns away from Adam and moves on to the next reporter, hoping he can hurry this up and get safely inside before anybody realizes that they are both on the carpet. He isn’t really worried about Adam seeing him, since he knows that he doesn’t really want to see Kris either, but the public -

 _”KRADAM!”_

The shrill shriek runs up his spine like a chill, and for a wild moment Kris wonders if anybody would try to stop him if he made a break for the door. He only has long enough to realize that no, he absolutely _can’t_ do that, before that one squeal has multiplied into dozens, and the crowd is humming with the nonsense word that used to make him blush with mixed pride and affection and now just makes him want to hide.

He’s not sure what to do; crowds of photographers and reporters are shifting toward him in waves, calling his name and barking at him to get closer to Adam. He looks to his left and sees Adam coming toward him, an indulgent, exasperated smile on his face as he approaches.

When he reaches Kris - the sea of people seems to have parted to let him get here - he claps him on the shoulder and says “I guess this is our week for bumping into each other, eh? Must be meant to be.”

Kris’s first urge is to slap Adam’s hand away and then stomp on his foot. He is grateful he is mature enough to be able to censor it because that would _definitely_ be bad PR, but being able to stop himself from doing something rash doesn’t diminish the rage that just erupted under his skin.

Adam and his stupid fake smile and all these stupid people buying it. How can it be so easy for him to pretend? How can anybody ever be sure _anything_ is real with Adam?

 _Meant to be._ Had to throw that in there. Prick.

Kris backs away, unable to hide the sour milk look on his face even as Adam smiles down at him.

“Must be,” he says, biting back a hundred different snipes he can think of having to do with hoping next week treats him better and what a bitch fate can be.

He knows he should smile and pose for pictures. He knows he should just get through this and try to make it believable.

He can’t remember why, though.

So instead he takes another step back, making Adam’s hand fall away from his shoulder. Adam’s eyes shift, his eyebrows coming together just a fraction of a inch, and that’s an expression that Kris _can_ name. Guarded confusion; just for Kris. He doesn’t want anybody else to see it. He’s saying _what are you doing?_ in that subtle language they used to use.

Kris shakes his head - an easy enough gesture to read - then turns and walks away. He doesn’t hear Adam call his name after him as he goes, but it’s not the roar of the crowd that drowns it out. He can’t hear anything over the rushing of his blood.

~

Kris stalks through the lobby, looking to left and right at the milling pretty people already inside, trying to calm his mind enough to decide what to do next.

He realizes he probably just made a mistake he’ll be paying for for a long time. He can only imagine what the headline will be tomorrow, what pictures were taken, what conclusions will be drawn. He starts to wonder what Adam said - how he reacted after Kris stormed away - but that makes him start feeling remorseful, and he’s not ready to be that generous.

He wants to be angry for a while longer.

He walks out of the lobby, through a door and down a hallway, not sure where he’s going or if he’s even going to come back to watch the show - not like he’s nominated anyway, the red carpet was supposed to have been the important part - and is relieved when the chattering voices fall away behind him. He’s also relieved that nobody calls his name, nobody runs up to him with a camera, nobody sticks a microphone under his nose and demands explanations.

They’re probably still outside grilling Adam, he thinks.

He’s not sure how far he’s wandered from the entrance or how many corners he’s turned when stumbles upon a small sitting room, decorated in neutral colors, contrasting the plush decor of the lobby. There are four chairs in a wide circle around a low table, with two doors on one wall - a men’s room and a women’s room - and a third, this one marked _Conference A_ , on the opposite wall.

He figures the administrative offices will be a decent sanctuary until he can safely escape - he can hardly hear the murmur of the gathered crowd from here.

“Fuck,” he says, relieved to finally be able to get it out.

The thing is, he’s not entirely sure why he reacted that way. He’s a professional, right? He managed to get through it the other night, and it’s not like being in the public eye hasn’t caused him unpleasantness even before that. He should be able to handle it by now. Especially since the unpleasantness of the public eye is what brought he and Adam to this. It _made_ them this.

They could’ve been something so, so much better, though.

“There you fucking are.”

Kris turns his head and sees Adam standing there, hands on his hips, his face screwed up in anger. When Kris meets his eyes, Adam turns his hands up, like he’s waiting for an answer.

“Here I fucking am,” Kris says, not able to muster the vitriol he hoped to put in it. He’s tired, and he doesn’t want to do this. He’s not ready to talk to Adam.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“No, I really don’t.” Kris stands, turning to face him. His hands turn to fists before he can stop them.

“Well, _try._ Because I just got the third degree from half of Hollywood, and I didn’t even know what to fucking _say._ God only knows what they’ll print tomorrow. What the fuck, Kris. Really.”

He looks genuinely confused, and maybe a little bit hurt. But Kris knows Adam could add that touch of hurt himself if he wanted to - he’s got it ready to go in his repertoire of fakeable facial expressions. Kris reminds himself not to believe it.

“What did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t know what was going on with you and I’d have to talk to you and find out.”

“You told _reporters_ that? That you were going to come and find me?”

“I didn’t say I was going to go right _now,_ I just said something must be bothering you but I didn’t know, and I’d have to talk to you.”

“Great.” Kris leans back, sitting on the back of a chair.

“So? You going to explain now?”

“What’s to explain, Adam? I haven’t heard from you in years, you blew me off the other night, and then you wanted to make buddy-buddy for the cameras? Sorry, I guess I’m just not as good at faking it as you are.”

Adam sighs. “I don’t like it either. We just have to do it, Kris.”

“Why?”

“Because smiling and acting happy when there are cameras around is better than having to explain in every interview for the rest of time why we aren’t friends.”

Kris shakes his head, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“They think we are,” Adam continues. “And they _like_ that we are. It’s too complicated to explain and... would just cause drama. Besides, it’s none of their business.” He gestures widely, as if indicating everybody, the world at large. “I don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, now we’ll have to. Thanks for that.” He sneers.

“Fuck you, Adam,” Kris says, much louder than he intended. He stands. “Seriously. _Fuck you._ ” That one is almost a shout. It feels good.

Adam’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open. Kris feels a surge of power at finally getting a genuine reaction out of him.

“My life is not about PR, OK?” Kris says. “I’m sick of trying to live like it is. Sorry if your next few interviews will have some new questions, although come to think of it you might want to thank me for changing the subject from your last ex. Is that all you think about? What your interviews are going to be like? What the fucking public sees?”

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about my life,” Adam says. “Keep your voice down.”

“No,” Kris says, voice elevated but even. “You go ahead and smile and wave and be some stupid empty mannequin version of yourself. I’m done with it. Let them hear--”

Adam stalks toward Kris and grabs him by the arm, his face hard. Kris tries to jerk away from him but Adam’s grip holds; he pulls Kris a few steps backward, dragging him into the men’s room and locking the door behind them. It’s a small one person bathroom, neatly kept and decorated but plain - meant for use by meeting attendees, not the theater-going public.

“Would you _please_ keep your voice down?” Adam hisses, letting go of Kris’s arm.

“Fuck you,” Kris says.

Adam sighs. “I don’t know what kind of little catharsis you’re having right now, but I’d appreciate it if you could leave me the fuck out of it, OK? Maybe you don’t care about your career--”

“There’s more to life than my _career._ ”

“Good for you,” Adam says. “Mine too, although I’m not so stupid as not to realize that if I lose that I lose everything.”

Kris snorts. “Everything? So much for nothing means anything without love, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” Adam says. “You think you’re so righteous. All purity and goodness, right? I know different.”

Kris rolls his eyes. “You’re the one always preaching about love above all else. I never said I was perfect, and I sure as hell am not pure. But at least I’m not a fucking liar.”

Adam’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. Kris thinks if it were possible for a person to emit steam, Adam would be right now. He also has the vague impression that Adam is counting to ten in his head before he answers.

“Could you repeat that,” he says, deadpan.

“At least I’m not _a fucking liar,_ ” Kris says, surprised at the amount of pleasure he takes in this. At needling Adam, poking at him, making him _angry._ It feels better than he could ever have guessed. Part of him - some long-buried neanderthal part - wants to just let loose, scream until he’s hoarse and Adam is defeated. As if that would help. As if it would change anything.

“You ARE,” Adam says loudly, losing control of his voice for the first time. “Yes you fucking are. You told me so many lies, I don’t know where to even _begin_. And you want to give me shit for not being upfront? You want to act like I’m a huge asshole because I don’t want to let the _media_ in on our little secret? That’s hysterical. Really fucking funny.”

“I never lied to you,” Kris says. “Not on purpose.”

“Right,” Adam says. “Remember it any way you like, Kris. I don’t care.” He exhales. “I don’t have time for this. I’m done.”

He turns for the door, and Kris starts to say something else - to retort or yell or say “fuck you” again, he’s not sure - but before he can, Adam is twisting the doorknob, and then it is coming away in his hand.

“What the?” Adam says, looking down at the knob like he’s never seen one before. And then, “oh, fuck me.”

Kris watches, mouth falling open in horror with his gradual understanding, as Adam jams the knob repeatedly into the hole first with frustration that quickly begins to look like panic, chanting “come on, come on,” like the thing is just being stubborn by continuing to be broken.

“I don’t think pushing it harder is going to fix it,” Kris says.

“Shut up,” Adam says, getting on his knees and peering into the hole.

“See the problem, MacGyver?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Adam says. “Jesus Christ.” He stands back up, tossing the knob into the sink - the clanging reverberates off the tile walls - then rubbing his face. His stance is so tense he’s almost vibrating, and when he pulls his hands away to see the black smudges on them, he makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a shriek. “ _Fuck._ ”

Kris sighs, grabbing the knob and walking over to the door.

“Now who’s MacGyver?” Adam says, his voice a touch wobbly.

Kris bends to examine the void where the doorknob used to be, finding it too dark to see anything - not that he knows anything about door hardware, anyway. He puts the broken end of the knob in the hole and pushes experimentally, turning it back and forth to see if he can get a feel for where it’s supposed to fit. No luck; no clicking, no sign that he’s doing anything at all.

“I don’t think pushing it into the hole is going to fix it, Kristopher,” Adam says snidely.

“Shut up.”

He puts the knob back on the floor, then pushes on the door with his shoulder. It doesn’t move, so he reaches his fingers inside the hole and pulls. Still nothing. He feels around in the gap to see if he can make the lock pop open, but he can’t find a good angle and without being able to see it’s a wasted effort.

“Well?” Adam says.

“Fuck,” Kris says, like that says it all. “Do you have your phone?”

Adam’s face lights up and he rolls his eyes, as if to say _of course, what was I thinking?_ He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with it for a second before bringing it to his ear. After a moment he pulls it away and looks at the screen with his brow furrowed, then holds it to his ear again, one foot tapping.

Another moment later, Kris hears the familiar _beep-beep_ sound that means _call failed._

Adam growls, then begins banging angrily on the screen, typing out a text like he’s pissed at the letters themselves. He watches the screen for a few seconds, then makes another distinctly animal-like sound. He’s holding the phone so tight, Kris can see the white of his knuckles.

“ _Come ON,_ ” he shouts.

“Not working?”

“No, it’s working just fine. Can’t you tell?” Adam spits.

“What’s the problem?”

“No signal. What the fuck, is this bathroom lead-lined?”

“Maybe it’s your phone.”

“It’s not my fucking phone. Where’s yours?”

“If the problem isn’t your phone, then how could mine help?”

“Have you always been this fucking irritating?” Adam says. “I feel like you used to be kind of cute and fun.”

“I’m still cute and fun,” Kris says. “You just didn’t used to be this much of a dick.”

Adam’s face goes blank as he looks at Kris, like he doesn’t even know what to do with this alien creature.

“Anyway,” Kris continues. “I don’t have my phone. My assistant has it. No pockets in these pants.”

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.”

“What time is it?”

Adam glances at the screen before slipping the phone back in his pocket. “Time for me to be in my seat. Time for me to practice my gracious smile-and-clap for when they read the nominees.”

“You’re nominated?”

Adam’s eyes go wide. “Yeah,” he says. Kris isn’t sure where that note of surprise in his voice comes from.

“Congratulations, I guess,” Kris says. “So, should we bang and scream or what?”

“No,” Adam says, leaning hard against the wall, then sliding down to sit. “People will be looking for me. They’ll check here. Won’t be long.”

“Right,” Kris says, holding in the _because nobody will be looking for ME, of course_ part, thinking he’s pushed enough for just now.

“Just,” Adam continues. “Stop talking. Leave me alone, please. I can’t. I mean, I just _can’t_. Right now.”

Kris nods, somehow understanding that. He turns and leans against the sink with both hands. When he looks up into the mirror he can see Adam behind him, face resting lightly in his hands, and Kris exhales, feeling his aggression melt away. All it leaves behind is regret, maybe a touch of remorse.

He hates that. He knows the anger will come back, but for right now he can’t keep it up, can hardly remember why he’d been angry to begin with. While Kris can still feel that _I-hate-you_ bubbling in the back of his mind, he can’t deny that there’s a touch of _there-there-it’ll-be-ok_ trying to force its way out, too.

“Why did you do that? The other night?” Kris says, quietly, to Adam’s reflection.

“That’s not leaving me alone.” He doesn’t raise his head.

“I’m not going to yell or anything,” Kris says, lowering his voice even further as if to show that he means it. “I was just curious.”

“Did you want me to invite you to sit?” Adam says, looking up finally. “What was I supposed to do? I didn’t expect to see you there. I wasn’t sure what to do, I just wanted to... not screw it up.”

“What would’ve been screwing it up?” Kris turns, leaning back against the sink.

Adam shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “Looking at you wrong, touching you too long or in the wrong place, saying the wrong thing... using _great_ when _good_ would’ve been enough. You’re like a fucking minefield.”

“You could’ve just said hi to me.”

“I think I did. Or maybe _hello,_ I’m not sure.”

“You did,” Kris says, shaking his head. “I just mean, it didn’t have to be that complicated. You could’ve just acted normal, like you would greet a friend.”

“It _is_ that complicated.” Adam is quiet for a moment, eyes cast down. “You’re not my friend, Kris,” he says, not looking up until the words are out.

Kris nods, face blank. “I know,” he says, but it almost sounds like a question.

“Did you think we were going to make up someday?” Adam says, voice somehow impossibly sad.

Kris shakes his head. “I didn’t think about it,” he says. “But I was never totally sure that we wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t call me,” Adam says, then. Matter of fact. “After Katy. You didn’t call.”

“Did you want me to?”

“That’s not the point,” Adam says. “The point is, you didn’t.”

“You were with Joel,” Kris says.

Adam rolls his eyes. “You could’ve given me the option.”

“Why was I supposed to think you wanted that, Adam? Was it the part where you told me I was slowly killing you or when you said you wished you’d never met me? Or maybe it was you not coming to a single one of my shows, refusing to ever even be seen with me, was that supposed to tip me off that you had a thing for me?”

“You made me _crazy,_ ” Adam says, pushing off on his hands to stand up. “I said a lot of crazy, stupid things. That’s what happens when you love somebody, they make you insane. And you didn’t come to any of my shows either. You knew why we had to stay away from each other where people might see. They were your goddamned rules. You knew I wanted to see you play, and I thought you wanted to see _me._ Stop trying to act like you’re the victim here. You got to go off on your own terms, ride away with _her_ \--”

“We got divorced,” Kris breaks in, smirking almost imperceptibly.

“So?”

“So it’s not like I rode off to some big romantic happy ending. You didn’t want to try to make it work anymore, and there was still the business of my marriage taking its last few breaths. It’s not like it was the greatest time of my life. And you didn’t call me either, by the way.”

“What do you mean?”

“You knew I was single, you could’ve called me if you were so interested.”

“I was with Joel.”

“What about having _options_?”

“No, it’s not the same thing,” Adam says, taking a step forward. “If you called _me_ it wouldn’t be like I was purposefully _looking_ to cheat. Or leave, or whatever.”

“Uh huh,” Kris says. “And what about after Joel?”

“You didn’t call me,” Adam says, crossing his arms with a shrug. “I figured you were over it.”

“So you thought about it, though?”

Adam chuckles once, quickly. “Not really,” he says. “I mean, not in any serious way. Can you imagine it? We’d bring new meaning to the word _dysfunctional._ And all under close watch from the public eye... how romantic.”

Kris nods.

“So you got pissy about the fact that I didn’t call you when I became single. But when _you_ became single, the idea of calling me was ridiculous. Is that right?”

Adam is quiet, face screwing up first into confusion, transitioning into irritation.

“So I guess in that case I did the right thing by not calling you,” Kris finishes. “Good to know.” He turns to the mirror again, his hands on the cold porcelain sink.

“Kris,” Adam says, taking another step forward. He’s right behind him now, and Kris can feel it, even before he looks up and meets his eyes in the mirror.

He wishes that feeling would go away. That little electric sizzle in the space between them when they’re this close. He felt it spark to life the other night and it’s crackling now; he wonders if Adam can feel it too.

“If you’d called me back then,” Adam says quietly, slowly. “I would’ve agreed to meet you. For a drink or something. And if it went well and weren’t too awkward, I would’ve told you I was sorry for the way things ended and the things I said... but that I didn’t feel totally responsible. Because we couldn’t do anything, really, until Katy... until you were free. Until then, we were only making things harder on ourselves at an already stressful time. We were only hurting ourselves. I mean, don’t you agree?” He puts one hand on Kris’s shoulder and turns him so they are face to face.

Kris shrugs noncommittally, still too surprised by the turn the conversation has taken to really understand the question.

“It was _torture_ ,” Adam continues, his voice and face emphatic. “Don’t you remember that? Maybe it wasn’t as bad for you as it was for me. I don’t know. But I was just... _losing my mind_ and I had to either have you or let you go because none of the things in between worked and I couldn’t _do_ it anymore. That’s all. I would’ve told you all that, and then... since that wasn’t the situation anymore, maybe we could get reacquainted. And then maybe I could suggest to you that I could either keep Joel or... not, and that that would be up to you. Up to you to decide how you wanted it to go. But you didn’t call, so... I figured you didn’t want that. That’s when I gave up on the idea of us having another chance. I guess it’s a matter of perspective whether it’s a good thing.”

“I thought about it,” Kris says, looking up into Adam’s open face. He doesn’t see any more lies there; only the same bright eyes he’s been trying to stop thinking about for three years, smudged with black on both sides. Just Adam now without walls, and Kris feels fear brewing deep in his belly. He’s losing control of this, and he is terrified where that might lead.

He wishes he could find that anger again, but it’s gone. He feels dangerously exposed; vulnerable.

“Yeah?” Adam says. “And?”

“And... I couldn’t. I thought you’d moved on.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” Adam says, leaning in so he’s almost whispering in Kris’s ear. Kris is holding his breath, trying not to smell him. “You told me I was fake, and a liar?”

Kris nods.

“I wasn’t lying the way you thought... you seem to think that if I didn’t put on the fake smile, I’d have no affection for you at all. That’s not true.” He pulls back so Kris can see his face. “I’m toning it down. The other night, today... I feel like I have to be extra careful because my urge is to sweep you up and hug you and... I don’t know. I have to pretend to be a little bit aloof... because if I let it go, I’d do something the rags would _definitely_ run with.”

Kris opens his mouth to respond and finds that he has no idea how. He is thinking back over this evening, the place where this started and where it has gone, and finding he can’t make any sense of it. He had never considered this possibility. All this time, all these long months and years, Kris has been trying to suppress what he could never manage to stop feeling, the aching gradually turning to resentment as he envisioned Adam going merrily along, never sparing a thought for Kris.

He’s been seeing it all wrong. He knows he has to respond to this new information, but his brain can’t sort through it fast enough.

His mouth hangs open as he continues staring at Adam. Adam’s concerned, frank look gradually shifts to amusement.

“Kris?” he says. “You OK?”

“Yes,” Kris says, eyes still locked on Adam’s. “Just thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“I never really hated you,” Kris says. “I... thought I did, for a long time. No. Pretended.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Kris says, his hand reaching out hesitantly, finding the smooth fabric of Adam’s suit jacket and running his fingers lightly up and down the lapel. He’s barely aware of doing it. “I hated telling reporters that we were friends, that I texted you all the time, that you were doing well... I hated lying. I hated telling people that my marriage... that we just drifted apart. I hated not admitting that I loved somebody else, that I... and that I was too much of a coward to try to get him back. I hated the situation and I hated myself a little, too, but I pretended that it was you.”

“You put up a stronger front than I did,” Adam says, his right hand moving in a slow arc to rest on Kris’s hip. “I never even tried to hate you. Even when I told you I _did,_ or whatever stupid bullshit I said. I just tried to replace you and couldn’t. And it got more and more frustrating.” He sighs.

Kris sees what’s happening, understands the event that is occurring _right this moment_ , and feels it come over him like a wave of warmth from his feet upward until he’s engulfed.

The hand that was on Adam’s lapel trails up, winding around to cup the back of his neck, pulling him down as Kris’s pushes himself up from the sink with his other hand. Adam moves down to meet him, whining quietly as their lips meet. He brings both hands up, resting one on each side of Kris’s neck and holding him there as they move together, as well choreographed as if they’d last done this yesterday.

Adam’s lips are soft and warm and comfortable as they ever were, and they still taste like youth and excitement, possibilities and truths. Kris feels a laugh start to bubble in his chest because he didn’t know, he didn’t think this was even on the list of options for tonight, or... _ever._ For _life._

But it was and it is and here they are, and Kris can’t contain his grin as the unexpected joy and relief flood through him. Adam kisses its corners, smiling himself now as his hands move down to wrap around Kris’s waist. Kris breathes deep, taking in the smell of hope and giddiness and _the future._

“I so didn’t see this coming,” Kris says into Adam’s neck.

“Meant to be,” Adam says.

“You think?”

“We’re locked in a bathroom with a phone that mysteriously won’t work. Apparently the universe really wanted us to talk.”

“I guess you’re right,” Kris says, snickering, and then pushes up again for another kiss. Adam is obliging, humming happily as they push against each other, breathing harder.

“Missed you,” Adam says, brokenly, between kisses.

Kris feels his chest squeeze, his heart falter for a minute as his head swims. He is clutching at Adam now, grinding into him, _remembering_ this so clearly... it’s like going back in time, like being a better version of himself, his _real_ self. And it’s such a _relief_ , such a wonderful weightlessness that he doesn’t know what to do but hold on tighter, kiss harder, show Adam how much it means.

They are breathless, faces raw and red, when the knock comes on the door.

“Kris?” calls a voice from the other side, and they freeze. “You in there, man?” They hear the sound of somebody trying the knob.

Adam groans.

“My people,” Kris says, smiling. “Go figure.” And then, “Yeah! I’m in here. Adam is, too.”

“Shhhh!”

“Oh, please. Like we can keep it a secret?” Kris rolls his eyes.

“What’s going on?” calls the voice.

“The doorknob is broken,” Kris says. “We can’t get out.”

The voice tells them he will get help and scampers off. Kris is only a little bit surprised to feel a pang of regret that they have to leave the bathroom now, when it was just getting good. But then he figures there will be lots of time to get reacquainted, and all the better if they can do it outside of a public restroom. In the meantime they kiss, hands roaming landscapes familiar and slightly changed, learning new curves and delighting in the process.

When the door is finally worked open they walk out flushed and smiling, thanking the assistant who found them and the maintenance man who removed the offending lock to set them free. They begin to make their escape, walking past their rescuers and toward the hall - they’ve decided that since they’ve missed most of the show already there’s no reason they can’t duck out, head to Adam’s apartment and work on getting caught up.

“Hey Adam,” the PA calls. “You won your award, did you know?”

Adam stops, turning to look at Kris as his face breaks into a wide grin. Kris returns it, feeling a surge of pride and love so strong he can’t believe he’s suppressed it so long. It’s good, though; this feeling that things have finally been put right.

“Congratulations,” he says, reaching out to take Adam’s hand. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Adam says. “I’ll have someone pick it up for me. Let’s get out of here.” He winks, and Kris’s grin, impossibly, grows wider. They turn together and head down the hallway, hurrying. They’ve wasted too much time already.


End file.
